The Squire and the Dragon
by tropical.waters
Summary: “I’m Saint George,” he said, leaning on his sword and looking extremely handsome. But I wasn’t fooled. “You’re a Saint?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. His grin never faltered. “Of course. Don’t I look heavenly to you?”
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the story of Saint George and the Dragon. I wasn't even born when it was written, and it's not like there were copyrights back then, but you get the point. This take on the story, however, is mine.**

**Chapter One**

In this world, people like things that are easy. The easiest solution is always picked; the easiest road is always taken. What people don't seem to realize is that what's easy for _them_ might not necessarily be easy for someone else. It's always been like that; it always will be.

So when the dragon came, people looked for the easy way out. At first, the dragon just demanded a sheep. One sheep. Out of a whole flock. That was easy, so the people did the dragon's bidding and no one dared oppose him. The next morning for breakfast, he demanded another sheep. It went on like this for only a week, actually. People have twisted the tale until somehow our kingdom managed to fend off the dragon for a whole month.

We _could_ have—at least, we could have if the king hadn't held a royal banquet and invited everyone of importance from every other kingdom. The main course, as you could probably guess, was mutton. So we were left with only about seven sheep, which fed the dragon for a week. When the week was up, the people finally began to worry about what to do if the dragon came back asking for more sheep.

The fat king, looking sweaty and red and uncomfortable, wiped his brow and yelled from the balcony of his castle, "People of Myritone! I don't normally ask for your advice—as if you _had_ any good advice—but my advisor says I should so that if something goes wrong with the dragon, the blame will be on you instead of me."

At this, the people cheered, and I had to stifle a snort. I got several stares which clearly meant that everyone thought I was being disrespectful, so I took a deep breath and looked as solemn as possible.

Then the "advice" began.

"Throw garlic at him!" one housewife suggested.

"_Pray for mercy!_" someone cried.

"Throw garlic at him, then dump hot butter on him!" someone else yelled.

"Give him a maiden to eat!" cried the slightly tottery town ne'er-do-well.

It was so ludicrous that I laughed out loud. I could tell that he'd spent a little too much time in the pub. I looked around expectantly, waiting for people to burst out laughing or to comment on how insane the idea was. But no one did. The crowd began to whisper excitedly.

Finally, the self-elected chairperson suggested, "Give the princess to the dragon!"

The king looked horrified. I wasn't surprised. Princess Rosalia was gorgeous; the king's pride and joy. He doted upon his spoiled, selfish daughter, giving her everything she wanted. He even had it decreed that the Princess was the most beautiful girl in the land and anyone caught saying otherwise would have his tongue cut out.

"The Princess?" he spluttered. "My daughter?" He turned hastily to his chief adviser, whispering furiously. Then he took a deep breath, looking rather smug, and said, "My good people, Princess Rosalia is destined to become your next queen. To waste sixteen years of training would be . . . despicable. So, good people, I suggest that we give one of the common girls—yes, one of your daughters—the honor . . . no, the _privilege_ . . . of sacrificing herself to save our kingdom."

Everyone cheered except me. Some of the girls were even excitedly jumping up and down, yelling, "Pick me, _pick me!"_ The king looked around for a moment. His gaze settled on me and I suddenly felt sick.

"You . . . what is your name?" he asked _oh-so-kindly_ from his balcony above.

"Lyda," I replied.

"Yes, yes, Lena," he said absently. I couldn't resist correcting him.

"It's Lyda. _Lee-duh_. Lyda." He waved his hand as if shooing off a fly, then turned back to his adviser, hurriedly whispering again.

"My good people," he called. "Our problem is solved. Linda has volunteered to save our village from the dragon by dressing as the princess and sacrificing herself, thereby bringing eternal honor and glory to herself and her family!" Everyone clapped and I nearly choked.

"Wait a minute!" I cried. "Hey, stop, I didn't . . ." But it was too late. Already, the guards were hauling me away and I tried to dig my feet into the cobblestone path. Needless to say, it didn't work very well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Basically, being a princess isn't all it's cracked up to be. Or at least, being the decoy princess isn't all it's cracked up to be. Princess Rosalia's servants pulled her least favorite gown over my head, yanking my arms through the sleeves. The Princess didn't want to give up one of her corsets—something I was extremely happy about.

The Princess' royal hairdresser pulled my hair up into intricate curls woven with a pale blue ribbon. A pair of the Princess' old shoes were shoved onto my feet, which were slightly larger than hers. Then everyone stood back to admire their handiwork.

"Well," one of them sighed, "she's definitely not Princess Rosalia, that's for sure. But she could probably fool the dragon."

I didn't bother to point out that Princess Rosalia had dark hair and tanned skin and eyes like large round olives like her mother had, and I, although definitely not a china doll—I spent most of my time outdoors—had fair skin and blue-green eyes and light brown curls.

Normally, I might have enjoyed wearing a beautiful gown (even if it was Princess Rosalia's least fashionable one) and having my hair done with such exquisite care, but I was _not _in the mood. After all, what had I done to be fed to a dragon? I tried to point this out to one of the maidservants, but she stared at me like I was insane to not be completely _thrilled _to feed myself to a dragon.

I wasn't _thrilled_. I wasn't even a bit _pleased_.

And it wasn't like I had anyone to help me. I had basically no friends, no admirers, no family . . . My existence seemed completely pointless, but I hadn't foreseen "sacrificing" myself to save our kingdom, which wasn't exactly glorious anyway. Try pointing that out to the king. By the time the king was ready to have me escorted to the front gate, it was dark. I was glad—I didn't want a farewell party.

They loaded me into a carriage and away we went. I felt like a horse going to the knacker's. We reached the gate and a guard helped me out. A few people were peering out their windows. Apparently they'd been waiting for me. That was a first. The guards pushed the huge wooden gate open and escorted me (more like dragged me) to the opening.

"The dragon lives in the lake. Follow the dirt path. Save our souls!" cried the king. I raised an eyebrow, putting a hand on my hip.

"You actually expect me to—" I began, but one guard shoved me out. I landed in a very unladylike fashion sprawled in the dirt. The gate clanged shut behind me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed the story! I really appreciate it. It's always good to know that your work is appreciated.**

**Chapter Three**

I sat outside the gate for a while, not caring that I was getting my fine blue silk gown dirty. I mean, silk is made from worms and worms crawl in the dirt, so technically, the gown was where it belonged. Whatever. The point was, I had no intention of going to the lake where the dragon supposedly lived, and I wasn't going to let the dragon eat me, which would supposedly save our kingdom, and I wasn't feeling in the least bit honored to be chosen, which I supposedly was supposed to.

I sat and drew my name in the dirt. _Lyda_. I wondered if Lyda was a family name or if my mother and father just happened to like it. I'd been too young to care about things like that when my mother died.

My mother was named Ilyssandra. I couldn't really remember her. I was only three when she died. I remembered wavy pale golden tresses and green eyes. Green like the forest. I could recall a beautiful, soft voice, but couldn't quite hear it perfectly. In a way, I was ashamed that I didn't remember her actually _dying._ Death is such an ugly word for a little girl. I remembered her getting sick—sick while she was pregnant with my younger sister—and I remember sitting at the two gravestones that marked my mother and tiny baby sister.

Ilyssandra, _my mother_, died while giving birth to my sister. My sister didn't live long, either. I remembered the tiny feet and hands, the perfect porcelain skin, the closed eyes that would never open again. My father buried them both. He inscribed the word _Ilyssandra_ on one and the word _Selia_ on the other. He said that my mother would have wanted the baby to be called Selia.

My father didn't live too much longer after my mother died. I think he missed her too much. In a way, I hated him for leaving me when I still _needed_ him. My mother, Ilyssandra, didn't. She was free of pain and was with my baby sister. She could wait for him. He was all I had.

And he died. Just like my mother and my baby sister.

A family with nine children offered to take care of me. It's hard to be noticed by anyone when you have nine other children to compete with. Although the man and his wife meant well, they just couldn't provide the love and attention I so desperately wanted. So I wandered around most of the time. They didn't notice. Somehow, I didn't think they'd notice I was gone for at least a day or two.

Sighing, I began to embellish my name. _Lyda._ Lyda the Orphan. Lyda the Forgotten. Lyda the Soon-to-be-Eaten. Somehow, I doubted that was what Ilyssandra had in mind when she named me.

I was tired and sick to my stomach and completely miserable. My eyelids were beginning to feel unbelievably heavy and I leaned against the gate, closing my eyes. It wasn't long before I drifted off into a whirlwind of sound and fading, dim memories and shapes, and finally I sank into a blissful pit of nothingness.

When I awoke, it was morning. The birds were chirping and I grumbled, wishing they would let me get some peace and quiet and allow the pounding in my head to cease. They were disinclined to comply. So I sat back and tried to ignore them.

Presently, I heard the sound of hooves on the dirt road. Probably someone coming to make sure I really had gone to feed myself to the dragon. Maybe if I was _really _lucky, it was a thief who would run me through for seeing him escaping from waylaying some unfortunate carriage.

But that was only if I was _really _lucky.

Instead, it was some boy on a horse. It didn't look like he would stop or say anything. Smart boy. But then I realized that he was slowing his horse down, preparing to stop. I groaned inwardly. The last thing I needed was for some boy to try and help me. But when I could finally take a good luck at him, I was pleasantly surprised.

He was tall and well-built, with copper-brown hair that fell casually into his deep blue eyes. He didn't appear to be much older than me, and around his waist was a red belt that held his scabbard. He took one look at me, grinned, and hopped off his stallion. I crossed my arms, remembering what boys in the village who had pleasant features entailed. They were always stuck-up, only cared about finding a pretty girl who he could show off, and they were complete chickens. I punched one in the nose once and he ran crying home.

I didn't think I needed that when I seemed to attract trouble anyway.

My "leave-me-alone" face apparently didn't concern him.

"I'm Saint George," he said, leaning on his sword and looking extremely handsome. But I wasn't fooled.

"You're a Saint?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. His grin never faltered.

"Of course. Don't I look heavenly to you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Once again, thank you everyone who has reviewed this story! And as some of you have pointed out, yes, these chapters are rather short. Sorry about that. I simply see Lyda as a very concise person, not at all long-winded or descriptive, but instead, intelligent, witty, and a bit sarcastic. I suppose I allowed her personality to affect the length of the chapters. I'll try to lengthen them, but no guarantees. And EvenSong, I hope you like George in this chapter, too.**

**Chapter Four**

_"Heavenly?"_ I asked, amazed at the self-confidence of the boy who stood in front of me. "I was under the impression that angels didn't carry swords." He shrugged, bowing elegantly.

"You are correct, m'lady," he replied. "I'm not a Saint. Yet. I think that being a Saint would make me seem . . . I don't know . . . _better _than everyone else. Which isn't true. I mean, look at you. You're much prettier than me." I rolled my eyes.

"Nice try, but flattery doesn't work on me. And how stupid do you think I am? You're not even a knight, much less a Saint."

George feigned a knife to the chest, complete with gasping and sound effects and collapsing to the ground. Then he opened one eye and asked, "Why would you say that?"

"Well, first of all, you can't be much older than me. Eighteen, maybe? Nineteen? You can't even _become _a knight until you're twenty-one."

George sat up, grinning. He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, threaded with just a hint of copper, and pushed it out of his blue eyes. Like I said, he wasn't un-handsome. Not at all. I just simply didn't have time to be talking to a good-looking boy when I had a dilemma of my own.

"Alas, my fair lady, I fear that you have calculated this poor squire's intentions correctly," George said, his head bowed, although that infuriating yet oh-so-charismatic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. I stared blankly at him. "In other words, congratulations, Saint George the Amazing is, unfortunately, a squire."

"Saint George the Amazing?" I asked. "More like Saint George the Arrogant, I think."

George stared at me for a minute or so. I couldn't read his expression, and it baffled me. Generally, people didn't dare to _ignore_ me and pretend they hadn't heard what I had just said to them. But I waited, simply because this chance encounter was much more interesting than leaning against a gate pitying myself.

"Well, m'lady, you look like you could use some assistance," he finally said. He stood up and offered me his hand, which I ignored, instead standing up without _his _help. He held it out for a few moments more, then blinked and withdrew. "Well then . . . you're the princess, it seems." But his expression was amused. Why?

"No," I snapped. "I'm just a commoner."

"I figured," he said.

"Well . . . I . . . if you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you know?" I spluttered, turning red.

"Don't blush, m'lady. I knew because you were sitting on a _dirt _road. Princesses don't sit on dirt roads because they might get their gowns dirty. Said gown, I must add, looks splendid on you." He winked at me to show he was only joking, then bowed again. "I think it's time for a proper introduction, what says you? I, as before stated, am George the Squire. _Squire_ is a very derogatory term, don't you agree?"

"Better than 'you, there!' According to most of the village, _that _is my name." George shook his head and made a _tsk-tsk _sound.

"I don't think it suits you," he said. "Maybe your real name would sound better."

"It's Lyda," I replied.

"Lyda," George repeated, testing my name out. "Hmm . . . Lyda . . . well, I can live with it, I guess." I glared at him. "So, Lyda, what exactly are you doing sitting in the middle of the road?"

"Well, to be completely honest—a virtue you don't seem to quite understand yet—I am expected to let myself be eaten by a dragon."

George winced, shaking his head, then replied, "That doesn't sound very pleasant. Such a waste of . . ." I expected him to say something like _a talented, beautiful girl_, and was surprisingly bitter when he finished, " . . . a blue ribbon. You know, the one in your hair? I've always loved blue ribbons. Doesn't everyone?" He smirked.

"I said I was 'expected' to feed myself to a dragon. I didn't say I was planning on it," I snapped.

"Good," George said. His face suddenly grew very solemn, very serious. He paused for a moment, then added mildly, "But actually, I've heard it doesn't hurt for very long. Being fried by a dragon, that is. Who knows? With your lack of human emotion, maybe you wouldn't feel a thing."

I punched him in the arm just to make sure that _his_ emotions were working properly. With any luck, he wouldn't feel a thing after his shoulder went numb.


	5. Chapter 5

**Aureusangel: I'm so glad you like Lyda. I was trying to stay away from the stereotypical damsel in distress.**

**Lilybet Edyvean: I like George, too! Once again, I was trying to stay away from Prince Charming.**

**Hoolihoopgrl131: Thanks much!**

**Cinnamon-sg: I finally had an idea for this chapter. Sorry it took so long to get it up. Keep reviewing!**

**And a note to all: This chapter is _short_. Sorry, but it is. At least I updated, huh?**

**Chapter Five**

After I hit him, George didn't seem so eager to talk to me anymore. I can't say I blame him. If I was him, I probably wouldn't want to talk to me, either. We sat in silence for a while. He rubbed his shoulder and I felt a twinge of guilt. I didn't normally feel guilty for anything, but I hadn't exactly punched him _lightly_.

Finally, he looked at me and said, "Lyda . . . are you just going to sit here? Aren't you going to do anything about your little dilemma?" I shrugged.

"You know what?" I retorted. "I wish that everyone would just leave me alone. That's what you all seem to be best at, anyway. My mother died and left me. My father died and left me. Nobody cares about me, and you shouldn't either."

I was surprised by George's reaction. His blue eyes blazed, illuminating flecks of gold and green that I hadn't noticed before. He stood up quickly, wincing and clutching his shoulder but pretending he wasn't hurt. But I could see it in his face. I could see the hurt there—not just from the bruise I'd made, but from something else.

"Fine," he snapped. "Fine, m'lady. I won't bother you anymore. But do you know what, Lyda? Maybe the reason you're alone is that you blame and rag on everyone else for your problems. You act like you're the only one in the world that anything bad has ever happened to. And you know what else? You push everyone away. You're just scared, Lyda. And quite frankly, I'm scared _for_ you."

He mounted his horse and turned to look at me. I thought he was going to say something, but apparently he changed his mind and shook his head. I watched him gallop away as I chewed on my lower lip. I was mortified.

Not because of what he'd said, but because _I knew it was true_. He was right. I shut people out. I blamed everyone for what had happened to me. And most of all, the only person that had shown the slightest interest in me had just galloped off into the distance. It was my fault. I slowly stood up and brushed off the pale blue silk dress I was wearing. I pulled the ribbon from my hair and let my curls fall down and brush my shoulders.

And then I left. There was nothing left for me in Myritone. There didn't seem to be anything left for me _anywhere_. At the thought, I stomped off angrily. I wasn't sure why I was angry. I wasn't sure who I was angry at. But I knew that I wasn't angry with George. As strange as it was, I wasn't mad at him for what he'd said. I was just disappointed that the truth had to be forced down my throat before I would recognize it.

But it didn't matter. George was just a boy. I didn't need a boy. I needed a _man. _A little boy playing save-the-princess wouldn't be any help, anyway. So with this thought in my mind, I followed the dirt road. I discarded my shoes after only a few minutes. They were too small and my toes felt pinched. I was getting blisters from the shoes rubbing in all the wrong spots.

I walked all day, only stopping to rest and pick some berries I found on the side of the road. By nightfall, I was _really _wishing I hadn't discarded the shoes. I had reached the edge of Myritone. The roads were poorly cared for, and my feet were cut and bleeding from stepping on thorns and sharp stones. I was beginning to wonder why I hadn't sucked up my pride and asked George for help. At least if I had, I might've been riding a horse. I quickly pushed the thought away, reminding myself that the boy was arrogant and annoying.

I found a few dry sticks and some dead leaves. I gathered the leaves into a pile, then rubbed the sticks together. I didn't get so much as a spark. But I wasn't going to give up. I was sore and tired and the thought of a warm fire was bliss. After ten minutes, I angrily threw the sticks as hard as I could, straining to see them arching in the sky, but everything was too dark.

A rustle in the bushes drew my attention and I held perfectly still. I tried to reassure myself that it was only an animal—probably a chipmunk. A chipmunk. Yes. George was like a chipmunk—little and energetic. The thought gave me some pleasure. I forced myself to smile, trying to stop my body from shaking.

And as if things couldn't get worse, it began to rain. Not just a sprinkle—an all-out storm complete with fat raindrops that stung my skin when they hit and lightning that illuminated my surroundings for one sickening moment and thunder that shook my entire frame. I was hungry, cold, wet, tired, and I ached everywhere.

I curled up in the tall grass and cried myself to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Au Printemps: Thank you. And by the way, I love the nickname "Lyd." Might have to use it in the story.**

**HottyJessy: I try to update as soon as possible, but thanks for waiting.**

**FairyEva: Don't worry. This won't be the last of George.**

**Hoolihoopgrl131: Thanks for the comments. I appreciate them.**

**EvenSong: Yeah, the last chapter was kind of emotional. Especially for Lyda. But don't worry, everything will work out eventually.**

**Note to All: George will be taking a brief break from the story. Nobody panic! He is still a main character and will return soon. His absence is necessary for the plot, but _he will be back_.**

**Chapter Six**

I woke up in the morning and slowly sat up, poking my head up above the tall grass. My clothes were damp and plastered to my skin, and my hair had leaves and mud in it. Needless to say, I was sure that I wouldn't make a pretty picture. It was with this thought that I dragged my sore body to the edge of the grass, then looked around. In the tangle of foliage on the right side of the road, there was a path where the grass had been worn down. It had probably been made by an animal.

I decided to follow it, hoping that it led to some fresh water. Not only did I long to be clean again, but my throat was parched from drinking nothing the day before. I trudged across the road and then up the trail. The shadows thrown on my face by the trees made my skin feel cool and tingly, and I closed my eyes for a moment, relishing the feeling. It was already a hot day, and even my current state of wetness didn't cool me down much.

After about ten minutes of walking, I came across the tiniest trickle of a stream. I dipped my fingers into it and then splashed water on my face. I decided to follow it further up, hoping that it led to a larger stream. For once, my instincts were right. The stream was brisk-moving, but not _too_ brisk, and wide, but only a few feet deep. It was perfect. I didn't have to worry about mud, since the water flowed so quickly over the rocks, but I also didn't need to be concerned with being swept away by the current.

I sat down on the grassy banks of the stream and dipped my feet into the water. I gasped with the frigid temperature. It seemed that the water hadn't yet warmed. But the water did soothe my tired, cut, battered feet, and soon I slid my aching body into the stream. The water went up to my waist, and I was momentarily caught off balance by the current, which was stronger than I had anticipated. But soon I was stable again, and, taking a deep breath, I submerged myself in the water.

I broke to the surface again, gasping, my teeth chattering. The cold stream almost gave me a headache, even in this warm spring weather, but I soon found myself splashing around in the water, washing the dirt and mud off my arms and legs. I ran my fingers through my tangled curls, letting the water play with them and clean them until I was confident that I had washed every last leaf out. I didn't worry about removing the Princess's dress. After all, it had been tight to begin with, and I wasn't sure I could slip it over my wet body and get it on again.

Eventually I left the stream and sat on the grass once more. I found some thick, flat blades of grass which I crudely bandaged my feet with. Then I lay down, allowing the sun to dry me off. I could feel its gentle glow kissing my skin, but soon the gentle kiss became an pulsing throb, and I could feel a sunburn beginning. I moved into the shade of a tree, leaning against its trunk.

And for the first time in a day, I wondered where George was and what he was doing. Was he trying to woo some other maiden, having given up on me? The thought made my ears and cheeks uncomfortably hot. I ran my fingers through my hair again, which had been reduced by the heat to soft, wavy tresses, flowing to the small of my back. I picked some wildflowers and idly began to twist them into a crown.

The thought of a crown instantly reminded me of the part I had been supposed to play. _Princess_, I though. _Me? A Princess? What did they think they were doing?_

I sighed and looked around. I was convinced that this was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen. My private Paradise. I grinned smugly, proud that I had found such a gorgeous spot. But the rumbling in my stomach reminded me that I hadn't eaten since early on the day before. I stood up, wincing as I put any weight on my feet. I bit my lip, stifling any cries of pain, and wandered down the river a bit. I found a bush of berries. They were blue in color, and I knew that they weren't poisonous—I had helped to make pies out of them back in Myritone.

I pulled up the skirt of my dress to my knees and began to pick the berries, placing them in the carrier I had made. It was tedious work, since I could only pick one berry at a time. I had almost finished gathering them when I thought I heard someone approaching. I turned around quickly, my eyes scanning my surroundings. I didn't see anyone.

Shrugging off the feeling of anticipation, I continued gathering berries, humming softly. The humming helped to calm me down, and soon I was gathering berries again. I figured I had gathered enough and turned around.

There was a man standing behind me.

I gasped and jumped. I was about to ask him if he needed something when I noticed the sword he held in his hand. I stifled a scream and began to run, dropping my skirt and letting the berries fall unnoticed to the ground. I followed the stream up again, back to where I had washed before. I didn't turn around to see if the man was following me. Panicking, I realized I had to get across the stream, to the other side of the bank. Then I could travel back down to the road and book it back to civilization. I splashed into the water up to my knees, falling once and then scrambling back up. I looked behind my shoulder to see the man wading in after me.

I pushed myself faster.

I reached the other side of the bank and turned around to look once more, trying to see the progress of the man. Something hard hit the back of my head and stars exploded in my eyes. By then the man had reached me, and I slipped into darkness. My last conscious thought was that I had fallen into the stream and the cold water surrounded me. _Would they let me drown here? _My arms and legs felt heavy, like lead weights. But then strong arms pulled me from the water and I knew nothing more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Cinnamon-sg: Thank you!**

**EvenSong: No offense taken. Constructive criticism is always welcome. And hopefully this next chapter will grab your attention more than the last chapter.**

**Hoolihoopgrl131: Well, read this chapter and find out who it is! I hope you enjoy it.**

**Chapter Seven**

When I finally woke up, I had a splitting headache. I didn't open my eyes for fear of the headache worsening. My arms still felt unbelievably heavy, but I finally gathered enough self discipline to gingerly touch the back of my neck. I winced in pain. I could feel something sticky, and the thought of what it was brought a wave of nausea.

My headache finally subsided enough that I could stand to open my eyes. I was laying on the floor of an old, broken-down building—probably a farmhouse, I decided. I didn't trust my legs to be able to hold me up, so I didn't bother to try exploring. Instead, I lay in my pitiful condition on the floor, wondering what I had done to deserve such a cruel fate.

Then the door opened.

I rolled over on my side, facing the wall. I didn't want to see whoever had entered. I moaned as a throb of pain pulsed through my temple. Heavy footsteps approached me. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, pretending to be asleep.

"So you're finally awake," a deep, masculine voice observed.

I had been hoping he wouldn't notice. Whoever _he _was.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" I mumbled, my throat dry and raspy.

"Are you hungry?" the man continued.

I opened my eyes to see who I was speaking to. Kneeling in front of me was the most handsome man I had ever seen. Sure, George was good-looking, but he was _nothing _compared to the man in front of me. His hair was dark, almost black. His eyes were of the most piercing shade of brown. His face was rugged and the lines of chin and cheekbones were strong and firm. He was several years older than me—perhaps early twenties.

"Who are you?" I asked, ignoring his question.

"Aleron," he replied. "And may I inquire as to your name?"

"Lyda," I replied.

"Lyda," he repeated. "Lyda. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, I suppose." I felt my cheeks flush. His reaction had been so pleasant and so unlike George's. He smiled at me, and I nearly melted. "How are you feeling?"

"Miserable," I replied, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "My head feels like it's being cut open."

"Ahh . . . yes. Well, subtlety is not Caton's strong point. I'm sorry he hit you so hard. I assure you, he will be dealt with." Aleron leaned closer. "You look famished, Lyda. Let me get you something to eat."

I didn't bother to protest. He was right—I was starving. My stomach was pinching uncomfortably.

Aleron stood up and walked to the corner of the hut. He took a wooden bowl and spoon from the table, then walked back to me. He knelt down beside me again.

"Can you sit up?" he asked. I shrugged.

"I don't think so. Not by myself, anyway."

"Then I'll help you," Aleron replied. He gingerly held my arms and sat me up. He was about to sit behind me to help support me when he saw the uncomfortable look on my face. He leaned me against the wall instead. "There. How's that?" he asked.

"I've been better," I replied. He laughed, a rich, deep laugh. I relished it.

"So honest, my little Lyda. Now here's your soup. Just drink the broth. It will strengthen you some, I've been told." He placed the bowl in my hands and I brought it up to my lips. The broth almost scalded my throat, but I didn't mind. I was famished and I didn't think I'd ever tasted anything so delicious.

"How is it?" Aleron asked.

"Amazing," I replied.

"Amazing," he agreed, but he was looking at me. I quickly looked down at the floor, pretending I saw something interesting there. But I couldn't hold my emotions in any longer.

"Why did you bring me here?" I questioned angrily. "Why did you . . . why did you kidnap me? What do you want?" Aleron grinned, and I was tempted to forget that I was justified in my anger and to just stare at him like an idiot.

"Lyda . . . please don't be angry with me. I assure you, I don't want to see you here. I want you to be free and happy, but . . . well, my associates don't. You know of Rembold, the country to the south?"

"Of course," I said. "I'm not completely clueless."

"The king of Rembold is interested in . . . _expanding_ . . . his territory. However, his people don't want to go to war. They lost several thousand men in the last war they were involved in, and they simply refuse to support the king. So the king must rely on other means."

"Other means?" I asked. I had always considered myself a fairly intelligent person, but I didn't understand what Aleron was saying.

"Less destructive means," he continued. "He has two sons. One of them ran off years ago. The oldest, however, is preparing to someday become king. An alliance with Myritone would prove most helpful."

"Why should I care about this?" I asked.

"Because you, my little princess, are destined to marry the king's son," Aleron said, and he tried to smile. He failed. "It would ensure your comfort and safety for the rest of your life. I assure you, the king's son is very handsome."

"I don't care that he's handsome!" I cried. "I will _not _marry him. I refuse." At that moment, the door opened, and a girl entered. She was taller than me, with dark hair. She walked to the corner and began to lay heavy blankets down, ignoring Aleron and I entirely. I tore my gaze away from her and turned back to Aleron.

"You don't understand," I said. "I'm not . . ." But I looked up at the girl again. She shook her head sharply. I trailed off, wondering what I wasn't supposed to do. Did she know that I was going to tell Aleron that I wasn't the princess?

"Excuse me," she said quickly. "Could you give us a moment alone? I have some fresh clothes for the princess."

Aleron stared at her suspiciously for a moment before saying, "All right." He gazed at me, his expression changing, and said, "I'll be back tonight, Lyda." He brushed his finger against my cheek and whispered, "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you." Then he stood up and sauntered out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Cinnamon-sg: Thank you!**

**Svelte: Thank you for your review! I can tell you really thought about it. I always enjoy people who really stop to analyze the story.**

** Aedin: Hopefully I can make it a little less predictable, huh? Well, wish me luck, and thanks for your comments and reviews. They help me to know what I should work on.  
**

**  
Chapter Eight**

I looked up at the girl, raising an eyebrow.

"I see you've met Aleron," she said, ignoring my questioning gaze. "He's very intriguing, isn't he?" I nodded slowly, wondering what this girl was getting after. I wasn't accustomed to people talking to me simply because they wanted to. Usually, they wanted something from me.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"First of all, I have a question. Who are _you_?" She waited for an answer, still arranging blankets on the floor. I assumed she was making me a make-shift bed.

"Who do you think I am?" I shot back at her.

"I don't know," she replied. "I can tell you who everyone else thinks you are. They think that you're the princess of Myritone. Now answer me this: if you are really the princess, why don't you carry yourself like one? Why were you willing to get your dress so filthy? How come you didn't object to Aleron being so close to you? I am told that princesses from Myritone are instructed to not let young unmarried men within five arms' lengths from them." I was flustered and didn't know what to say. Would this girl turn me in? What did she want from me?

"Can I trust you?" I asked blatantly.

"If you couldn't, why would I have instructed you not to tell Aleron who you really were?" She shrugged. "Follow your instincts." So I thought about it. My instincts were telling me that this girl could be trusted.

"Well, since it was so obvious to you, I might as well tell you the truth," I said. "My name is Lyda. In reality, I had never met the king before two days ago." The girl nodded knowingly, closing her brown eyes for a moment.

"Was it the dragon? The reason the king called you to see him, I mean. Did he want to meet with you because of the dragon?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied slowly, wondering how this girl knew so much. "He said that it would be a waste of sixteen years to allow his daughter, the _real _princess, to be given to a dragon. So he chose me instead." I laughed, but it sounded forced, even to me. "After all, who would miss an orphan?"

"I knew it wouldn't work," the girl said, shaking her head. "I told my father it wouldn't, but he was sure that the dragon would put enough pressure on the king . . . scare him enough . . . that he'd give the princess up."

Now I was _really _confused.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "Better yet, who are you?" The girl looked straight at me, and for the first time, I could see her clearly. She had dark brown hair and clear brown eyes. Freckles lightly dotted her nose and cheeks, and she was a few inches taller than me.

"My name is Elwyn," she replied. "My father is the leader of this pathetic little group." She forced a grin. "Doesn't seem like a place for a girl like me, huh? Well, Father hasn't ever really seen me as a girl. He always wanted a son, you know."

"Right," I said slowly. "Now, explain what's going on to me, Elwyn. Aleron told me that theoretically I'm going to marry a prince so that the king can get more land, but what on earth does the dragon have to do with anything?"

"Good question." Elwyn sat down on the floor next to me. "Okay, well, my father made a deal with the dragon. If the dragon would terrorize your kingdom for a while and convince everyone that he wanted the princess, my father would get a precious amulet for the dragon."

"An amulet?" I questioned. "As in a piece of jewelry? That sounds like a stupid deal to me."

"It's not stupid, Stupid," Elwyn retorted. I glared at her, resenting that she had called me stupid. "Hasn't anyone ever told you the story of Ryger the Hero?"

"No, but then again, if my name was Ryger the Hero, I wouldn't _want _people to tell my story. I'd probably just want to disappear." I smirked.

"Very funny, _princess_," Elwyn said. "Four hundred years ago, dragons were everywhere. A man named Ryger hunted down and killed many of them, and imprisoned most of the rest. Only a few survived."

"Like the dragon that was terrorizing my kingdom?" I asked.

"No," Elwyn said. "That dragon is younger—maybe only two hundred years old. He was probably just an egg when Ryger killed off his parents." She paused, taking a deep breath. "The point is, Ryger trapped the remaining traces of most of the dragons—their eggs—deep inside a mountain with the use of an amulet."

"A magic amulet?" I breathed.

"No, genius," Elwyn replied. "It's not magic—it fits into a carving in the mountain like a key. When it's placed into its slot, it will release the dragons."

"If this dragon is so young, maybe it won't have enough experience to be able to do that," I pointed out.

"I thought so at first, but then I realized that the dragon's youth makes him more reckless, more determined, more dangerous. He lacks experience, but he makes up for that with his strength. However, don't get me wrong—dragons aren't extremely intelligent." She shrugged.

"Wait a second," I said slowly. "Wouldn't the trapped dragons be dead by now? I mean, the eggs would have hatched and the dragons wouldn't have anything to eat. They would have starved."

"Dragon eggs don't hatch for close to four hundred years, and in order for them to hatch, they have to have fire blown on them. They have to be kept warm—really, really warm. When they're white-hot, the baby dragons are able to emerge. Why do you think the population grows so slowly?"

"So that's why the dragon is so desperate to get to them," I said slowly. "They'll be hatching soon, and he wants to make sure they survive and grow up."

"Right," Elwyn said. "I guess it is possible for you to learn."

"Thanks," I replied dryly. "But why did your father make that kind of a deal? He must be _insane_. Once those dragons get a little older, they'll destroy the entire country."

"My father doesn't care," Elwyn explained, and suddenly her face became hard. "He plans on leaving the country—heading across the ocean—after he gets his payment for delivering the princess. The dragons won't concern him. They can't fly large distances without stopping to rest, and there's nowhere to stop and rest in the middle of an ocean. They need large territories, but none of them will make it across the sea."

"So, basically, he's leaving us all here to be burned to a crisp, is that it?" I asked, my tone harsh. "Noble guy, huh?"

Elwyn stood, her eyes burning. She glared at me.

"Listen, you don't know anything about what my life is like," she snarled. "So don't judge me based on how my father is. I'll be back later to make sure you're doing all right, _Princess_."

She threw a bundle of clothes at me and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I stared at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Pleasant girl," I said sarcastically, then shook my head and started to change into a clean dress.


	9. Chapter 9

**Lilybet Edevean: I guess you'll just have to wait and see, huh?**

**Svelte: I'm glad you enjoy it!**

**Miss Kaitou: Thanks. I'm not sure where the flight attendants part came from, but . . . thanks, I think.**

**Acy Yua: Yes, Lyda will hopefully mature throughout the story. Thank you for the great review.**

**Chapter Nine**

Somehow I couldn't understand why the world had all of the sudden decided to pay attention to me when it never had before. I think the world of girls who aren't children and yet aren't adults is full of wishing that someone, _anyone_, would notice you exist, and when they finally do, you only want to go back to being invisible again. At any rate, that's how it was for me.

In one day I had gone from my comfortable if not necessarily fulfilling life as Lyda the orphan and had become Lyda-Who-Is-In-a-Whole-Lot-of-Trouble. Both Elwyn and Aleron left me alone for several hours, and I began to look around. I had my small pile of blankets, my pitcher of water and glass, and my dirty clothes. That was really the extent of my prison. One small window allowed me to see outside.

I contemplated trying to escape, but I knew that there were too many people walking around the camp. I wouldn't get so far as the fire before someone had spotted me. So instead, I tangled myself in my blankets and thought. I knew as well as Elwyn that there was no way I could pass as a princess for long. My obvious ignorance when it came to subjects a princess should know by heart would surely give me away.

I soon fell asleep for lack of anything else to do. Sadly, my rest was far from peaceful. My mind wouldn't stop working, and my dreams jumped from one to the next until I was even more exhausted than I had been before I closed my eyes. In one dream, I was arguing with Elwyn about which dress I should wear to my wedding. The strange thing was that both of them were the same. In another, Aleron was trying to convince me that the prince wasn't really so bad, even though he was a pig stuffed in prince's clothing. Literally. The last dream I had before I woke up was of George, who was accusing me of _wanting _to marry the prince. He was saying that I was self-centered and was using my "opportunity" simply so I could wear fancy gowns and live in a palace, and I was trying to point out that I didn't want to marry a pig, anyway, because wouldn't I have to stay in the pig-pen with him?

I shot up and immediately began to laugh, imagining myself walking down the aisle of a chapel with a pig. Slowly, my laughs turned to gasps for air and then to sobs. I didn't want to marry a prince! I didn't even want to be here! As soon as I had calmed myself down, I fell back onto the blankets and covered my head. I stayed that way for several minutes before I got the strange impression that someone else was in the room.

"Lyda?" a voice asked.

I jumped and flung the covers off my head. Aleron was standing in front of me, looking down at me quizzically.

"Yes?" I replied.

"Ehm . . . well . . . what are you doing, exactly?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just resting. Not like there's anything else to do in here," I said.

"Right," he said slowly. Then he stretched out his hand. I took it, and he pulled me up. As soon as my feet touched the floor, I cried out in pain. I'd been walking for two days without shoes, and my feet were cut and bruised. My knees buckled and Aleron caught me.

"Careful! Careful, Lyda! Are you okay?" He lowered me to the ground and sat next to me.

"I think so," I said, slowly moving my legs out from under me. I stretched them out, not really wanting to see what my feet looked like. I was sure it wouldn't be pretty. Aleron took one look and his face instantly darkened.

"What happened to you?" he said angrily.

"I left my shoes," I admitted. "I couldn't walk in them."

"Are you crazy?" he asked, but his tone began to soften. He pulled a large hankerchief from his pocket and tore it into two pieces with surprising ease. Then he stood up and walked over to my pitcher. He dampened the cloth and then took a sit in front of me again.

"We need to clean that out," he said. "Otherwise it could get infected." I wasn't too excited about the prospect of even more pain.

"No way!" I cried. "Don't touch it!" I tried to scramble away, but Aleron grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

"Hold still, Lyda," he said, and he latched on to my ankle. And then he began to clean out the deep gashes in my feet. I think I nearly fainted with the initial shock of it all. I felt the blood drain from my face and Aleron said quickly, "Take a deep breath, Lyda. Don't pass out on me. Come on. In, out. In, out." I tried, but my breath was coming in short gasps and I couldn't help but try to yank my feet out of his iron grip.

"Are you trying to _kill_ me?" I said through gritted teeth. He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled something—probably a rock or thorn—from my foot. _"Oww!" _I yelled. "Stop! It hurts!"

"Come on, Lyda, be a big girl, won't you?" he said.

"Oh, thank you for your sympathy," I hissed sarcastically. Then he pulled something else from the sole of my foot and my foot jerked in pain. I kicked him in the nose. It was purely accidental, although it was somehow rewarding.

"Ouch! That was uncalled for!" he said. But at last it was over, and he wrapped my feet with clean hankerchiefs and tied them in place. I sat motionless, feeling light-headed. My stomach felt like lurching. We were quite a sight—me with bandaged feet, taking shuddering breaths, and him clutching his nose.

"See, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Aleron asked.

"Not too bad for you, maybe," I said, "But _I _certainly didn't enjoy it."

"Not too bad for me? You _kicked_ me! I try to help you and you kick me. With malice!"

"I did _not_," I argued. "There was no malice intended. It was your fault for not listening to me."

"Oh, well, excuse me, Princess," he said. "Forgive me for helping you so you don't have to get your foot amputated." He removed his hand from his nose and grinned at me.

"You are forgiven," I said. "On one condition: never try to help me again."

"All right," he replied. He looked at me. "All right, my brave little princess. I swear I won't ever help you again." He reached out and tucked a gold curl behind my ear.

"Good," I said slowly, my mouth suddenly unable to form any difficult sounds.

"I have to go," he announced. "I have first watch tonight. Until tomorrow, Lyda?" I nodded numbly and watched as he stood up and left.


	10. Chapter 10

**Au Printemps: I'm sorry the story seemed confusing. I assume by the "king's daughter" you're talking about Elwyn, since the real princess, Rosalia, hasn't even entered the story? If so, let me clarify really fast: Elwyn is the daughter of the leader of the camp. He's working for the king of Rembold. Hopefully if my explanation wasn't helpful, your questions will get resolved as the story progresses. Thanks for the review, and feel free to tell me when things don't make sense.**

**Catakit: Hopefully we can remedy that soon.**

**Svelte: I'm glad that _someone _finds my stories funny! As always, thanks for the great review!**

**Fashion Statement: Thank you for the review and also the great message you sent! I'm really grateful for the interest you've taken in the story. And as always, it's good to know that someone enjoys the characters and the plot!**

**Chapter Ten**

My dreams were blissfully full of Aleron. I could see his strong features, his dark hair, his brown eyes. I was jerked awake by something, but I felt warm with the remembrance of Aleron's last words to me: _"Until tomorrow, Lyda?" _Then I realized what had woken me up. It was Elwyn.

"What are you doing?" I groaned sleepily, angry at her for keeping me from my dreams and Aleron.

"I brought you breakfast," she replied. "I figured you'd be hungry." She handed me a bowl of something that resembled gray porridge, although I was fairly certain I saw something move in it.

"Thanks," I said uncertainly. She sat down next to me and sighed.

"Look, Lyda. I think maybe my first impression on you wasn't very good, and I'm sorry. I just . . . well, if you haven't noticed, there aren't many girls around here." She gestured around hopelessly.

"It's okay," I said, shrugging. "I'm sure my first impression wasn't great, either." Elwyn smiled. She looked prettier when she smiled. Her eyes lit up and her face looked less condescending.

"Well, I have some laundry and things to do," she replied brightly. "I'm going to see if I can get that beautiful gown of yours clean. You looked amazing in it."

"Thanks, Elwyn," I said, genuinely grateful. "It's not really mine, though. It was Rosalia's—the real princess's—and I don't think she would be happy about giving it up."

"Who cares?" Elwyn asked. "I don't think she'd want it back, anyway. I mean, a _commoner _has worn it." She grinned at me. Then her grin faded. "And Lyda?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry about what happened . . . you know . . . what's going to happen." She looked around my dismal room. "And I tried to get my father to let you out, but he says he can't yet. He's afraid you'll try to run off."

"So I'm stuck in here forever?" I questioned angrily.

"Not forever," Elwyn said quickly. "Just until your wedding."

"Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten," I said sarcastically. "Well, there's just one problem: I'm not the princess!"

"I know, I know," Elwyn replied. "Just give me a while, all right? I figure once the wedding's over, you can run off to some other kingdom. Just remember: don't tell _anyone _who you really are. Mistakes here can be fatal." With that, she climbed to her feet and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a while with your dress."

"Elwyn, wait!" I cried. "_Why _can't I tell anyone?" Elwyn turned around slowly.

"Think about it, Lyda," she said. "You know about the plot to trick the king into giving the princess to the dragon. You know about the plot to marry the princess of Myritone to the prince of Rembold. You know about this camp. Do you think that most loyal people would be happy about this? Do you think the men here have any honor or mercy? They wouldn't hesitate to slit your throat, Lyda, and they _definitely _wouldn't let you go off and risk their plan being exposed."

"Wait!" I said again. "Can you explain a bit more?"

"I have chores, Lyda," she replied.

She slipped out the door and I sighed, laying back on my blanket. In my present condition, I couldn't try to sneak away. My feet were excruciatingly sore, and there was no way I could walk for more than a short distance. As I considered this depressing thought, a knock sounded on my door.

"Come in," I said. Not as if whoever was outside would leave me alone if I said I was busy.

"Good morning, Lyda," Aleron said, standing in the doorway in all his rugged glory.

"Aleron," I said, barely able to contain my enthusiasm.

"Sleep well?" he asked, walking toward me. He sat down next to me, since I couldn't stand to talk to him.

"All right," I said. Not exactly the truth. My dreams had been the only pleasant part of my night. Sleeping on a wood floor with a couple of moth-eaten blankets wasn't exactly comfortable.

"Good," he replied. "You know, I was thinking about you last night."

"Really?" I asked, flushing and trying to hide my delight. "I hope you weren't thinking that being around me has been unpleasant. I mean, we've only known each other for what, two days, and I've already almost broken your nose."

"No, that wasn't what I was thinking," he said. "I was thinking that you certainly make life around here interesting."

"I try," I responded, grinning.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said. "Your feet, I mean. Do they hurt?"

"A little," I lied. "But I'll live."

"Good. You're too young to die."

"And you aren't?"

"Well, I'm older than you, little Lyda," he said, trying dramatically to look superior.

"_Little _Lyda? Oh, really? I'm not much younger than you," I said, teasing him.

"Maybe not, but you always will be younger than me. _Always_. Even when you're a little old lady living with her cages and cages of wild birds."

I blinked and raised an eyebrow.

"Where did _that _come from?" I asked. "And are you saying that I'm going to be an old maid with only birds to keep me company?"

"Of course not!" Aleron replied. "You'll be the queen, remember?" And his face fell a little. Just a little, but I still saw it.

"Oh. Right," I said slowly. "The queen. How . . . wonderful." But honestly, it wasn't wonderful. It was _awful_. Here I was, talking with the greatest man I'd ever known, and soon I would be married off to a prince. Even if I ran away, I'd probably never see Aleron again.

"Don't worry, Lyda," Aleron said, his brown eyes boring into mine. "When the time comes, we'll worry about it." My heart fluttered rapidly at the connotations that statement had. Did Aleron mean that he didn't want me to marry the prince? Was he implying something?

He stood to go, and I felt a sudden rush of disappointment. Did his visits always have to be so short? He was about to step out the door when he suddenly turned around.

"Oh, Lyda, I forgot to tell you," he said. "We had a visitor last night. He was looking for someone. I can't remember his name . . . what was it again . . . oh, yeah. He said his name was George."


	11. Chapter 11

**Svelte: Your review totally made my day! Thanks for the great comments!**

**Dolphindreamer: I can't promise anything longer, as it's just not really the style of this story, but I will try to update regularly. I don't feel as bad about my chapters since I started re-reading The Count of Monte Cristo ** **by Alexandre Dumas. Some of his chapters are really short. Yeah, I know, weak reason for justifying myself, but still . . .**

**Ollie May: Glad you found the story! I really hope you enjoy what's coming up.**

**Bellachaos: Thanks for the nagging. It does help, trust me.**

**Chapter Eleven**

Days passed uneventfully except for Aleron's customary visits. Elwyn and I talked. Slowly we began to trust each other. I hadn't ever had a real friend before, and we spent hours just getting to know each other. She was still a bit wary of me, and I was a bit wary of her, but we tried to be open. Sometimes she had chores, but she could usually slip away to visit me.

Then one day Aleron burst through the door and said excitedly, "Lyda! They've decided to let you outside."

I nearly cried with joy at the thought. I had spent so long in my little room, my prison. Of course I was allowed outside when I needed to use the bathroom (which wasn't exactly high-class), but never for more than a few brief moments.

My feet, although they were healing, were still sore and any pressure put on them made them throb and ache. I turned pale at this thought. I wanted so badly to go outside.

"What's wrong?" Aleron asked, noticing my expression.

"I can't walk," I said. "There's no way I can go outside."

"Then I'll carry you," he said.

"You can't carry me far," I argued. "I may be lighter than you, but I'm too heavy to carry for long."

"We're taking a horse, Lyda," Aleron said, grinning. "I just have to carry you to the horse."

"Oh," I replied. "Well then, let's go." He took me in his arms and pushed open the door. The sun was intoxicating to me. I savored its warm glow, throwing my head back and letting it warm my face. Aleron helped me mount his horse, then he climbed on behind me, taking the reigns. We galloped off.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see."

So I waited as patiently as I could, enjoying the fresh air and the smell of things growing. Finally we arrived at a tiny brook, surrounded by soft grasses. I was instantly reminded of the day I was captured, but I brushed the thought away. Aleron lifted me off his horse and carried me to the edge of the creek.

"Well, it's beautiful, but I still don't see why we're here," I said.

"We're here because I had one of the old slave-women make a special salve for you," Aleron replied. "She guarantees it will work, but first we need to take off your bandages and clean your feet again."

"So why couldn't we do that back at camp?" I questioned.

"I didn't want to waste any of our drinking water. Plus I wanted to spend some time with you. Any objections?"

"None," I said quickly. "Will this hurt?"

"Hopefully not," Aleron said. "When it hurts you, it hurts me too." For a moment I thought he was being sentimental, but then he added, "You kicked me, remember?"

"Sorry about that."

"It's all right. Now let's try to heal your feet."

Aleron carefully, gently removed the bandages from my feet. I winced, as it was painful. But this time, I didn't kick him. Then I soaked my feet in the brook, letting the cold water run over my wounds. Finally, Aleron pulled a pouch and a cup from a bag on his horse's saddle.

He filled the cup with water from the stream, then poured the contents of the pouch into the water. He mixed it with his finger, then took one of my feet and spread the solution over it. The salve was cool and thick. It was a pale green in color and it smelled of spices and herbs. It hurt a little for him to apply it, but I bit my lip and let him, just enjoying his company.

Eventually both feet were done, and Aleron wrapped them with clean bandages.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

"I guess not," I replied.

"We're supposed to do this every day," he added. "Would you hate coming out here with me every day?"

"No," I said quickly. "Not at all."

"Good," he replied. He stared at me for a moment, then leaned in slowly.

I felt the color rise to my cheeks, and I was ready to lean in to when I blurted out, "Can't you tell me any more about George?"

Aleron drew back and looked at me strangely.

"You mean the boy who came to the camp?" he asked.

"Yes. But actually he's about my age. Older, even."

"Oh," Aleron said. "He came trying to find someone who would lend him some money."

"Money?" I asked. "He didn't . . . he didn't ask about me?"

"No. Were you expecting him to?"

"Not really. I just wondered . . ."

"How do you know him, anyway?" Aleron asked, laying back and propping himself up with his elbows.

"I don't really know him. Not very well, anyway. I've only seen him once."

"But . . . there's nothing . . . going on . . . between you?"

"No!" I said quickly. "No, it's nothing like that." Aleron's eyes brightened.

"Oh. Well . . . I guess that's good, then." Slowly, his face fell. "Since . . . you have to marry the prince."

"I'd almost forgotten," I said wistfully.

"I hadn't," Aleron said. "I tried, though."

Then he slowly bent down and kissed my cheek.


	12. Chapter 12

Sometimes I confuse myself. It's not something I make a conscious effort to do. Maybe God never intended my brain to be used for anything useful. It's like my mind has a mind of its own – and that scares me, because if it does, I have an alien form living inside my head and making decisions for itself and not me.

Imagine a cart balanced on the top of a hill. Now imagine giving that cart just the tiniest push – just a tap with your pinky finger – and it starts rolling down the hill. It gets faster and faster until finally it flies off the cliff at the end of the hill and goes shooting through the air, like some crazy wooden bird.

This explains my thought process (although I'm not sure I've ever actually experienced the flying off the cliff phase).

I was sitting in my room – if you could really call it that – and my thoughts were naturally centered on Aleron. Although some of the boys from the village would have sworn otherwise, I really am a girl, and as such, I was very preoccupied. Aleron had kissed me. Only on the cheek, of course, but I'd clearly felt his warm lips pressed against my cheek. I'd felt the heat that rushed to the area, outlining the exact spot we'd touched for several minutes after. And when I'd returned to camp, I had to run and find a looking-glass to make sure I didn't have a large burn in the shape of Aleron's lips scarred on my cheekbones.

I didn't. That made me feel somewhat better.

Still, I wasn't sure how to handle his attentions. I'd nearly made up my mind to ignore him and act as if nothing had happened between us. Then my mind began to make up its mind. It's really quite sad that I had such little control in my life.

_This isn__'__t who you are_, I told myself.

_Who cares? _my brain said. _You know you__'__re attracted to Aleron. You've never had someone to watch out for you, and he could do that._

And thus had begun the crazy rolling-down-the-hill-out-of-control affair. I thought of Aleron's gruff features – his dark hair, his strong jawline, the way he always looked completely serious. And yet somewhere inside I could see the vulnerable part of him, the part that didn't believe in his leader's cause.

Just as I had decided to strangle myself with the bedsheet and save myself all this trouble, the door flew open. Aleron stood in the opening. I was completely shocked.

"You forgot to knock," I said, stunned.

"Forgive me," he replied.

"It wasn't really that big of a deal, I wasn't dressing or anything . . ."

"Not for the door!" he said. "Forgive me for earlier. I shouldn't have . . . it wasn't my place."

My face fell. I cleared my throat.

"Yes. Well." I couldn't think. "Just see it doesn't happen again."

He nodded, then spun on his heel and marched out the door.

_Well, I__'__m glad that__'__s taken care of_, I thought.

_Are you really? _my mind's mind-of-its-own asked. And then, like the traitor he usually was, my heart began to ache.

"Tell me about Aleron," I said later as Elwyn refilled my pitcher of water. She didn't turn to look at me.

"He's my father's right-hand man," she finally said.

"I already knew that, Elwyn, give me a little more."

Finally she turned around.

"Lyda, you need to understand something," she said. "People around here generally have two sides to them – except my father, perhaps. Many of these men are or have been married. They're good fathers, and they're good providers. There are always exceptions, of course, but as a general rule, they're not evil men. But they come here, hoping to help with a cause they agree in. They want to unite the two kingdoms. They're idealistic. Most aren't educated. They commit horrible crimes because they're told that it has to be done in order to secure a healthy future for their kingdom."

"Aleron's _married_?" I asked, stunned. It was all I could think to say.

"Of course not, Lyda, try to keep up!" Elwyn said, her characteristic impatience showing through. She sighed. "What I'm trying to tell you is that people sometimes have two sides. It doesn't mean that one side is true and one side is false. It just means that you have to be careful."

"Careful of what?" I asked.

"I have to go. Another day." Elwyn shook her head and hurried out the door.

I was confused. Was Elwyn defending Aleron, telling me that he had two sides – a side that worked for her father, and a side that loved me – or was she saying that he acted as if he cared for me but really he was a terrible person? I didn't know what to think.

I'd never observed him around other people. I didn't know how far he was willing to go to help the king of Rembold. And surely he didn't know of Elwyn's father's plan! Surely he wouldn't abandon the entire countryside to be terrorized by dragons! He wasn't capable of such cruelty, of that I felt positive.

But what did I really know of Aleron? How had he come to unite himself with these men? Why wasn't he happily married, providing for his wife and children? He was certainly old enough.

I felt a chill run down my spine. It seemed perhaps I knew much less than I thought I did.


End file.
